NCERT Textbook - The Third Level | English Class 12 PDF Download

 Page 1


1 11 1 1
The Third Level
Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney
Before you read
Have you ever had any curious experience which others
find hard to believe?
THE presidents of the New York Central
and the New York, New Haven and
Hartford railroads will swear on a stack
of timetables that there are only two. But
I say there are three, because I’ve been
on the third level of the Grand Central
Station. Yes, I’ve taken the obvious step:
I talked to a psychiatrist friend of mine,
among others. I told him about the third
level at Grand Central Station, and he said it was a waking-
dream wish fulfillment. He said I was unhappy. That made
my wife kind of mad, but he explained that he meant the
modern world is full of insecurity, fear, war, worry and all
the rest of it, and that I just want to escape. Well, who
doesn’t? Everybody I know wants to escape, but they don’t
wander down into any third level at Grand Central Station.
But that’s the reason, he said, and my friends all
agreed. Everything points to it, they claimed. My stamp
collecting, for example; that’s a ‘temporary refuge from
reality.’ Well, maybe, but my grandfather didn’t need any
refuge from reality; things were pretty nice and peaceful
What does
the third level
refer to?
Reprint 2024-25
Page 2


1 11 1 1
The Third Level
Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney
Before you read
Have you ever had any curious experience which others
find hard to believe?
THE presidents of the New York Central
and the New York, New Haven and
Hartford railroads will swear on a stack
of timetables that there are only two. But
I say there are three, because I’ve been
on the third level of the Grand Central
Station. Yes, I’ve taken the obvious step:
I talked to a psychiatrist friend of mine,
among others. I told him about the third
level at Grand Central Station, and he said it was a waking-
dream wish fulfillment. He said I was unhappy. That made
my wife kind of mad, but he explained that he meant the
modern world is full of insecurity, fear, war, worry and all
the rest of it, and that I just want to escape. Well, who
doesn’t? Everybody I know wants to escape, but they don’t
wander down into any third level at Grand Central Station.
But that’s the reason, he said, and my friends all
agreed. Everything points to it, they claimed. My stamp
collecting, for example; that’s a ‘temporary refuge from
reality.’ Well, maybe, but my grandfather didn’t need any
refuge from reality; things were pretty nice and peaceful
What does
the third level
refer to?
Reprint 2024-25
2 Vistas
in his day, from all I hear, and he started my collection.
It’s a nice collection too, blocks of four of practically every
U.S. issue, first-day covers, and so on. President Roosevelt
collected stamps too, you know.
Anyway, here’s what happened
at Grand Central. One night last
summer I worked late at the
office. I was in a hurry to get
uptown to my apartment
so I decided to take the
subway from Grand
Central because
it’s faster than
the bus.
Now, I don’t
know why this
should have
happened to
me. I’m just an
ordinary guy
named Charley,
thirty-one years
old, and I was wearing a tan gabardine suit and a straw
hat with a fancy band; I passed a dozen men who looked
just like me. And I wasn’t trying to escape from anything; I
just wanted to get home to Louisa, my wife.
I turned into Grand Central from Vanderbilt Avenue,
and went down the steps to the first level, where you take
trains like the Twentieth Century. Then I walked down
another flight to the second level, where the suburban trains
leave from, ducked into an arched doorway heading for the
subway — and got lost. That’s easy to do. I’ve been in and
out of Grand Central hundreds of times, but I’m always
bumping into new doorways and stairs and corridors. Once
I got into a tunnel about a mile long and came out in the
lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. Another time I came up in an
office building on Forty-sixth Street, three blocks away.
Sometimes I think Grand Central is growing like a
tree, pushing out new corridors and staircases like roots.
Reprint 2024-25
Page 3


1 11 1 1
The Third Level
Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney
Before you read
Have you ever had any curious experience which others
find hard to believe?
THE presidents of the New York Central
and the New York, New Haven and
Hartford railroads will swear on a stack
of timetables that there are only two. But
I say there are three, because I’ve been
on the third level of the Grand Central
Station. Yes, I’ve taken the obvious step:
I talked to a psychiatrist friend of mine,
among others. I told him about the third
level at Grand Central Station, and he said it was a waking-
dream wish fulfillment. He said I was unhappy. That made
my wife kind of mad, but he explained that he meant the
modern world is full of insecurity, fear, war, worry and all
the rest of it, and that I just want to escape. Well, who
doesn’t? Everybody I know wants to escape, but they don’t
wander down into any third level at Grand Central Station.
But that’s the reason, he said, and my friends all
agreed. Everything points to it, they claimed. My stamp
collecting, for example; that’s a ‘temporary refuge from
reality.’ Well, maybe, but my grandfather didn’t need any
refuge from reality; things were pretty nice and peaceful
What does
the third level
refer to?
Reprint 2024-25
2 Vistas
in his day, from all I hear, and he started my collection.
It’s a nice collection too, blocks of four of practically every
U.S. issue, first-day covers, and so on. President Roosevelt
collected stamps too, you know.
Anyway, here’s what happened
at Grand Central. One night last
summer I worked late at the
office. I was in a hurry to get
uptown to my apartment
so I decided to take the
subway from Grand
Central because
it’s faster than
the bus.
Now, I don’t
know why this
should have
happened to
me. I’m just an
ordinary guy
named Charley,
thirty-one years
old, and I was wearing a tan gabardine suit and a straw
hat with a fancy band; I passed a dozen men who looked
just like me. And I wasn’t trying to escape from anything; I
just wanted to get home to Louisa, my wife.
I turned into Grand Central from Vanderbilt Avenue,
and went down the steps to the first level, where you take
trains like the Twentieth Century. Then I walked down
another flight to the second level, where the suburban trains
leave from, ducked into an arched doorway heading for the
subway — and got lost. That’s easy to do. I’ve been in and
out of Grand Central hundreds of times, but I’m always
bumping into new doorways and stairs and corridors. Once
I got into a tunnel about a mile long and came out in the
lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. Another time I came up in an
office building on Forty-sixth Street, three blocks away.
Sometimes I think Grand Central is growing like a
tree, pushing out new corridors and staircases like roots.
Reprint 2024-25
3 The Third Level
There’s probably a
long tunnel that
nobody knows about
feeling its way under
the city right now, on its
way to Times Square, and
maybe another to Central Park.
And maybe — because for so many
people through the years Grand
Central has been an exit, a way of
escape — maybe that’s how the
tunnel I got into... But I never told
my psychiatrist friend about that
idea.
The corridor I was in began
angling left and slanting downward and
I thought that was wrong, but I kept on
walking. All I could hear was the empty
sound of my own footsteps and I didn’t pass
a soul. Then I heard that sort of hollow roar
ahead that means open space and people
talking. The tunnel turned sharp left; I went
down a short flight of stairs and came out
on the third level at Grand Central Station.
For just a moment I thought I was back on
the second level, but I saw the room was
smaller, there were fewer ticket windows
and train gates, and the information
booth in the centre was wood and old-
looking. And the man in the booth
wore a green eyeshade and
long black sleeve
protectors. The
lights were dim
and sort of
flickering. Then
I saw why; they
were open-flame
gaslights.
Reprint 2024-25
Page 4


1 11 1 1
The Third Level
Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney
Before you read
Have you ever had any curious experience which others
find hard to believe?
THE presidents of the New York Central
and the New York, New Haven and
Hartford railroads will swear on a stack
of timetables that there are only two. But
I say there are three, because I’ve been
on the third level of the Grand Central
Station. Yes, I’ve taken the obvious step:
I talked to a psychiatrist friend of mine,
among others. I told him about the third
level at Grand Central Station, and he said it was a waking-
dream wish fulfillment. He said I was unhappy. That made
my wife kind of mad, but he explained that he meant the
modern world is full of insecurity, fear, war, worry and all
the rest of it, and that I just want to escape. Well, who
doesn’t? Everybody I know wants to escape, but they don’t
wander down into any third level at Grand Central Station.
But that’s the reason, he said, and my friends all
agreed. Everything points to it, they claimed. My stamp
collecting, for example; that’s a ‘temporary refuge from
reality.’ Well, maybe, but my grandfather didn’t need any
refuge from reality; things were pretty nice and peaceful
What does
the third level
refer to?
Reprint 2024-25
2 Vistas
in his day, from all I hear, and he started my collection.
It’s a nice collection too, blocks of four of practically every
U.S. issue, first-day covers, and so on. President Roosevelt
collected stamps too, you know.
Anyway, here’s what happened
at Grand Central. One night last
summer I worked late at the
office. I was in a hurry to get
uptown to my apartment
so I decided to take the
subway from Grand
Central because
it’s faster than
the bus.
Now, I don’t
know why this
should have
happened to
me. I’m just an
ordinary guy
named Charley,
thirty-one years
old, and I was wearing a tan gabardine suit and a straw
hat with a fancy band; I passed a dozen men who looked
just like me. And I wasn’t trying to escape from anything; I
just wanted to get home to Louisa, my wife.
I turned into Grand Central from Vanderbilt Avenue,
and went down the steps to the first level, where you take
trains like the Twentieth Century. Then I walked down
another flight to the second level, where the suburban trains
leave from, ducked into an arched doorway heading for the
subway — and got lost. That’s easy to do. I’ve been in and
out of Grand Central hundreds of times, but I’m always
bumping into new doorways and stairs and corridors. Once
I got into a tunnel about a mile long and came out in the
lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. Another time I came up in an
office building on Forty-sixth Street, three blocks away.
Sometimes I think Grand Central is growing like a
tree, pushing out new corridors and staircases like roots.
Reprint 2024-25
3 The Third Level
There’s probably a
long tunnel that
nobody knows about
feeling its way under
the city right now, on its
way to Times Square, and
maybe another to Central Park.
And maybe — because for so many
people through the years Grand
Central has been an exit, a way of
escape — maybe that’s how the
tunnel I got into... But I never told
my psychiatrist friend about that
idea.
The corridor I was in began
angling left and slanting downward and
I thought that was wrong, but I kept on
walking. All I could hear was the empty
sound of my own footsteps and I didn’t pass
a soul. Then I heard that sort of hollow roar
ahead that means open space and people
talking. The tunnel turned sharp left; I went
down a short flight of stairs and came out
on the third level at Grand Central Station.
For just a moment I thought I was back on
the second level, but I saw the room was
smaller, there were fewer ticket windows
and train gates, and the information
booth in the centre was wood and old-
looking. And the man in the booth
wore a green eyeshade and
long black sleeve
protectors. The
lights were dim
and sort of
flickering. Then
I saw why; they
were open-flame
gaslights.
Reprint 2024-25
4 Vistas
There were brass spittoons on the floor, and across
the station a glint of light caught my eye; a man was pulling
a gold watch from his vest pocket. He snapped open the
cover, glanced at his watch and frowned. He wore a derby
hat, a black four-button suit with tiny lapels, and he had
a big, black, handlebar mustache. Then I looked around
and saw that everyone in the station was dressed like
eighteen-ninety-something; I never saw so many beards,
sideburns and fancy mustaches in my life. A woman walked
in through the train gate; she wore a dress with leg-of-
mutton sleeves and skirts to the top of her high-buttoned
shoes. Back of her, out on the tracks, I caught a glimpse of
a locomotive, a very small Currier & Ives locomotive with a
funnel-shaped stack. And then I knew.
To make sure, I walked
over to a newsboy and
glanced at the stack of papers
at his feet. It was The World;
and The World hasn’t been
published for years. The lead story
said something about President
Cleveland. I’ve found that front page
since, in the Public Library files, and
it was printed June 11, 1894.
I turned toward the ticket
windows knowing that here — on the third level at Grand
Central — I could buy tickets that would take Louisa and
me anywhere in the United States we wanted to go. In the
year 1894. And I wanted two tickets to Galesburg, Illinois.
Have you ever been there? It’s a wonderful town still,
with big old frame houses, huge lawns, and tremendous
trees whose branches meet overhead and roof the streets.
And in 1894, summer evenings were twice as long, and
people sat out on their lawns, the men smoking cigars and
talking quietly, the women waving palm-leaf fans, with
the fire-flies all around, in a peaceful world. To be back
there with the First World War still twenty years off, and
World War II over forty years in the future... I wanted two
tickets for that.
Reprint 2024-25
Page 5


1 11 1 1
The Third Level
Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney Jack Finney
Before you read
Have you ever had any curious experience which others
find hard to believe?
THE presidents of the New York Central
and the New York, New Haven and
Hartford railroads will swear on a stack
of timetables that there are only two. But
I say there are three, because I’ve been
on the third level of the Grand Central
Station. Yes, I’ve taken the obvious step:
I talked to a psychiatrist friend of mine,
among others. I told him about the third
level at Grand Central Station, and he said it was a waking-
dream wish fulfillment. He said I was unhappy. That made
my wife kind of mad, but he explained that he meant the
modern world is full of insecurity, fear, war, worry and all
the rest of it, and that I just want to escape. Well, who
doesn’t? Everybody I know wants to escape, but they don’t
wander down into any third level at Grand Central Station.
But that’s the reason, he said, and my friends all
agreed. Everything points to it, they claimed. My stamp
collecting, for example; that’s a ‘temporary refuge from
reality.’ Well, maybe, but my grandfather didn’t need any
refuge from reality; things were pretty nice and peaceful
What does
the third level
refer to?
Reprint 2024-25
2 Vistas
in his day, from all I hear, and he started my collection.
It’s a nice collection too, blocks of four of practically every
U.S. issue, first-day covers, and so on. President Roosevelt
collected stamps too, you know.
Anyway, here’s what happened
at Grand Central. One night last
summer I worked late at the
office. I was in a hurry to get
uptown to my apartment
so I decided to take the
subway from Grand
Central because
it’s faster than
the bus.
Now, I don’t
know why this
should have
happened to
me. I’m just an
ordinary guy
named Charley,
thirty-one years
old, and I was wearing a tan gabardine suit and a straw
hat with a fancy band; I passed a dozen men who looked
just like me. And I wasn’t trying to escape from anything; I
just wanted to get home to Louisa, my wife.
I turned into Grand Central from Vanderbilt Avenue,
and went down the steps to the first level, where you take
trains like the Twentieth Century. Then I walked down
another flight to the second level, where the suburban trains
leave from, ducked into an arched doorway heading for the
subway — and got lost. That’s easy to do. I’ve been in and
out of Grand Central hundreds of times, but I’m always
bumping into new doorways and stairs and corridors. Once
I got into a tunnel about a mile long and came out in the
lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. Another time I came up in an
office building on Forty-sixth Street, three blocks away.
Sometimes I think Grand Central is growing like a
tree, pushing out new corridors and staircases like roots.
Reprint 2024-25
3 The Third Level
There’s probably a
long tunnel that
nobody knows about
feeling its way under
the city right now, on its
way to Times Square, and
maybe another to Central Park.
And maybe — because for so many
people through the years Grand
Central has been an exit, a way of
escape — maybe that’s how the
tunnel I got into... But I never told
my psychiatrist friend about that
idea.
The corridor I was in began
angling left and slanting downward and
I thought that was wrong, but I kept on
walking. All I could hear was the empty
sound of my own footsteps and I didn’t pass
a soul. Then I heard that sort of hollow roar
ahead that means open space and people
talking. The tunnel turned sharp left; I went
down a short flight of stairs and came out
on the third level at Grand Central Station.
For just a moment I thought I was back on
the second level, but I saw the room was
smaller, there were fewer ticket windows
and train gates, and the information
booth in the centre was wood and old-
looking. And the man in the booth
wore a green eyeshade and
long black sleeve
protectors. The
lights were dim
and sort of
flickering. Then
I saw why; they
were open-flame
gaslights.
Reprint 2024-25
4 Vistas
There were brass spittoons on the floor, and across
the station a glint of light caught my eye; a man was pulling
a gold watch from his vest pocket. He snapped open the
cover, glanced at his watch and frowned. He wore a derby
hat, a black four-button suit with tiny lapels, and he had
a big, black, handlebar mustache. Then I looked around
and saw that everyone in the station was dressed like
eighteen-ninety-something; I never saw so many beards,
sideburns and fancy mustaches in my life. A woman walked
in through the train gate; she wore a dress with leg-of-
mutton sleeves and skirts to the top of her high-buttoned
shoes. Back of her, out on the tracks, I caught a glimpse of
a locomotive, a very small Currier & Ives locomotive with a
funnel-shaped stack. And then I knew.
To make sure, I walked
over to a newsboy and
glanced at the stack of papers
at his feet. It was The World;
and The World hasn’t been
published for years. The lead story
said something about President
Cleveland. I’ve found that front page
since, in the Public Library files, and
it was printed June 11, 1894.
I turned toward the ticket
windows knowing that here — on the third level at Grand
Central — I could buy tickets that would take Louisa and
me anywhere in the United States we wanted to go. In the
year 1894. And I wanted two tickets to Galesburg, Illinois.
Have you ever been there? It’s a wonderful town still,
with big old frame houses, huge lawns, and tremendous
trees whose branches meet overhead and roof the streets.
And in 1894, summer evenings were twice as long, and
people sat out on their lawns, the men smoking cigars and
talking quietly, the women waving palm-leaf fans, with
the fire-flies all around, in a peaceful world. To be back
there with the First World War still twenty years off, and
World War II over forty years in the future... I wanted two
tickets for that.
Reprint 2024-25
5 The Third Level
The clerk figured the fare — he glanced at my fancy
hatband, but he figured the fare — and I had enough for
two coach tickets, one way. But when I counted out the
money and looked up, the clerk was staring at me. He
nodded at the bills. ‘‘That ain’t money, mister,’’ he said,
‘‘and if you’re trying to skin me, you won’t get very far,’’
and he glanced at the cash drawer beside him. Of course
the money was old-style bills, half again as big as the
money we use nowadays, and different-looking. I turned
away and got out fast. There’s nothing nice about jail, even
in 1894.
And that was that. I left the same
way I came, I suppose. Next day, during
lunch hour, I drew three hundred dollars
out of the bank, nearly all we had, and
bought old-style currency (that really
worried my psychiatrist friend). You can
buy old money at almost any coin
dealer’s, but you have to pay a premium.
My three hundred dollars bought less
than two hundred in old-style bills, but I
didn’t care; eggs were thirteen cents a
dozen in 1894.
But I’ve never again found the
corridor that leads to the third level at
Grand Central Station, although I’ve tried often enough.
Louisa was pretty worried when I told her all this, and
didn’t want me to look for the third level any more, and
after a while I stopped; I went back to my stamps. But now
we’re both looking, every weekend, because now we have
proof that the third level is still there. My friend Sam Weiner
disappeared! Nobody knew where, but I sort of suspected
because Sam’s a city boy, and I used to tell him about
Galesburg — I went to school there — and he always said
he liked the sound of the place. And that’s where he is, all
right. In 1894.
Because one night, fussing with my stamp collection,
I found — Well, do you know what a first-day cover is?
When a new stamp is issued, stamp collectors buy some
Would Charley ever
go back to the
ticket-counter on the
third level to buy
tickets to Galesburg
for himself and
his wife?
Reprint 2024-25